Full Circle
by Traci
Summary: Doggett gets a call from an old friend right before Christmas needing help on a case. Reyes feels connected to the case and insists they take it. Will Reyes and Doggett be the next victims?


Disclaimer: Not mine. 'Nough said.  
  
Rating: R for gore and violence  
  
Category: Case involving Doggett and Reyes  
  
Spoilers: Nada really - only mild references to Doggett's son in relation to the story. Oh, and a brief mention of the mysterious necklace Monica was wearing in 'Sunshine Days.'  
  
WARNING: This is a murder case. There are many GRAPHIC descriptions of various crime scenes of murder and mutilation (not done for shock value however). If you are sensitive to such matter please don't torment yourself by reading it. Trust me. Some of the scenes turned my stomach and I'm writing the thing! Also involves child murder victims.  
  
Notes: I should NOT be allowed to read FBI profiling books. Oh, wait, my psycho uncle fits most of the profiles in that book and oh, wait, thanks to the stupid laws he's out on the streets no matter what he does! It's lovely, really. The laws suck bigtime!   
  
Thanks to Tracy (aka Dragon Queen) for suffering through my writer's block and insecurities with this one heheheh. And Kelly for reading it and, though sickened by it, still wanted more!  
  
Feedback greatly acknowledged at traci_ann@yahoo.com  
  
  
'Full Circle'  
  
  
"One of the bodies is in here, Sir." The young officer stepped aside to let Sargent Mark Armend in the bedroom. "They're still searching for others," he added quietly.  
  
Armend took in a sharp breath then nearly gagged. The stench of decaying flesh assaulted his nostrils. The sight before him turned his stomach. In all his fifteen years on the Boston police force, he had never seen anything quite like what he was witnessing at that moment. On the floor beside the bed lay the mangled remains of a woman. Barely out of her twenties, all features were unrecognizable. Streaks and spots of blood covered all four walls as well as the ceiling and the puddle on the floor beneath the victim had nearly dried to a sticky goo.   
  
The young officer gave him time then told him, "There are two more victims in the shed and a fourth, a child, in the basement. The attic and surrounding yard is presently being search, Sir."  
  
Nodding, Armend carefully stepped over to the body and crouched beside it. "What kind of... animal can do such a thing?" Glancing up, he saw a framed portrait on a nearby dresser. "This her?" he asked.  
  
"We believe so. The hair color matches and the height seems about right from what we can tell."  
  
"Any leads yet?"  
  
"Numerous fingerprints. But which belong to the family and which, if any, belong to the killer we have to wait for the reports."  
  
Slowly, he stood up. "Good work. I'll be at the shed if you need me."  
  
Once outside, Armend inhaled deeply but nothing was going to remove the smell. Taking a deep breath and holding it, he approached the officers who were investing the crime scene at the shed.  
  
"Um, Sargent," one of the officers began. "If you thought what you saw in there was bad..."  
  
He merely nodded in understanding so the officer stepped aside. Turning his flashlight on, Armend stood outside the shed door and shone the light in. Inside lay two bodies, far beyond recognition. Were they also family members? Friends? Strangers in the wrong place at the wrong time? There was no way to tell by sight if they were male of female. In one a pitchfork had been driven through the chest and drawn down as if someone were raking leaves in the backyard. The other had been skinned by a chainsaw. On both a sandblaster had been used to do away with any recognizable facial features.   
  
Silently he made his way back to the house. There was still one more known body that he had not yet taken a look at. One victim he had been trying to forget about. His feet felt like lead as he descended the creaky, wooden basement steps.   
  
The officers down there stopped what they were doing and stepped aside to let him see. His heart pounded. He swallowed hard. Before him, pinned up by a number of hunting knives against the far wall was the body of a fourth victim - a six-year-old boy. The killer had brutally gutted him like an animal and had placed his internal organs neatly in a row beneath him. Turning his head for a moment, Armend noticed the other officers on the case had not faired much better with the scene either as a bucket of vomit sat off in the corner.  
  
"I want this monster," was all Sargent Armend hissed before leaving the basement.  
  
****************  
  
"Good morning, John," chirped Monica Reyes from her desk in their basement office.  
  
"Dare I ask how many cups of coffee you've already had?" he asked, hanging his jacket up behind the door.  
  
"Uh, two."  
  
"So far," he added with a smile.  
  
Smiling at his comment, she turned her attention back to the report on her desk.  
  
"Anything good?" he asked, getting his own cup of coffee.  
  
"Nah, typical report stuff. No new cases."  
  
For the first time in a long time the X-Files division of the FBI had been quiet... too quiet. Not even a UFO sighting. In the nearly three years that Special Agent John Doggett had been assigned to the division, he never recalled a dull moment but now it was going on three weeks with nothing. He sighed loudly.  
  
"Bored?" Monica asked with a chuckle.  
  
"A little, I guess." He watched her as she typed up a report. Being so close to the holidays, she had taken to dressing comfortably since most people were on vacation from the bureau anyway. Her shoulder-length chestnut hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore glasses instead of contacts. One thing, however, always remained the same with her - her air of confidence and her sense of calmness. Two things that had gotten him through more than she'd ever know. Suddenly he found himself looking into her warm, brown eyes.  
  
"You must be bored if you think watching me type is interesting."  
  
"Wanna tell me why we're still stuck here at work when so many of our loyal co-workers have the next week off?"  
  
"We're gluttons for punishment?" she offered. "Dedicated to our jobs?"  
  
He laughed out loud. "Yeah, that's it." His phone rang. "Doggett."  
  
Monica went back to typing. She was determined to get all their reports done and turned in before Christmas. John sinking down into his chair, however, got her attention and she walked over to his desk.  
  
"Do they have a motive?" He remained silent as the other party spoke. "Any suspects?"  
  
Monica tried to find out who it was but he held up his finger telling her to wait. She sat on the edge of his desk.  
  
"I'll look into it and see what we can do. I'll be in touch." Hanging up the phone, he sighed and ran a hand over his face then looked up at Monica.  
  
"John?"  
  
"We may have ourselves a case, though not an X-file."  
  
"What?"  
  
"That was an old friend of mine. Sargent Mark Armend up in Boston. He was hoping he might be able to use your expertise on ritual murders."  
  
"Okay, what's the case?"  
  
John shrugged. "He's faxing over the preliminary reports now. But he sounded pretty shaken so it must be bad."  
  
The fax machine rang and within moments they were stooped over John's desk with the report spread out.  
  
Monica stood staring at them in disbelief. Her face a cross between shock and disgust.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"I don't think this is ritualistic in the sense of satanistic or cultist."  
  
"Alright, I'll call him back and tell him we can't help."  
  
"No, John. I think we do have to help on this."  
  
"But you just said..."  
  
She turned to look at him. "I said it's not satanic or cult related. But... I just think we need to help on this. I can't explain it."  
  
"Another feeling?" he asked in a voice that was crossed between accusing and understanding.  
  
She merely nodded.   
  
"Means we have to go to Boston. And may mean we're away for the holidays."  
  
"I know." She hesitated, and then added, "If you'd rather not, I understand. It can't be easy seeing that boy... But I have to."  
  
His crystal blue eyes searched hers for any sign of doubt or hesitation but he found none. She had always been one to follow her heart and her inner feelings and over the years he had come to trust her, maybe not her feelings, but her and her passion. "You sure?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Okay, I'll let him know we'll be up later this afternoon."  
  
However, her attention had already returned to the report before her. Something was drawing her to it and she needed to know why. The thought of dragging John into a case involving the murder of a young boy after what had happened to John's own son so many years back upset her but she knew he needed to be there too.  
  
******************  
  
Mark Armend sat in his office staring into space. The images of the murder victims played in his mind like a slide show. Why them? Why that way? A knock on his door startled him.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sarg, but there's been another one."  
  
"Same signature?"  
  
The officer nodded.  
  
Armend grabbed his coat and followed him to the scene.  
  
It was a fifteen-minute ride to the latest crime scene. Mark sat in his car outside the cozy suburban home taking in the serene image before stepping into the horrors that awaited him just beyond the white oak door.  
  
"We've found six victims here," the pathologist told him upon stepping through the threshold. Camera flashes were going off in three nearby rooms simultaneously. "Four adults and two teenagers." The pathologist followed Armend into the living room where two of the victims were. "We believe two of the adults are the parents of the two teenagers due to a family portrait on the wall in the other room but we do not know about the other two."  
  
Nodding, Armend stared at the couch. Once a pastel blue, it was now soaked through with blood. Two victims lay sprawled out, their abdomens sliced open yet their faces were untouched. Two pairs of cold, empty eyes stared up at the ceiling. "What did you see?" he quietly asked.  
  
All the people in the room jumped when his cell phone rang. Wordlessly he stepped outside the house to answer the call. "Armend."  
  
"It's John. We're checking into the hotel now. Do you want to meet us at the station?"  
  
Mark sighed. "You may as well come out to 769 Shiley Lane. There's been another attack. I'm warning you and you'd better warn your partner, it's not a pretty sight here either."  
  
"How many this time?"  
  
"Six. Four adults and two teens."  
  
"We'll be there in half an hour."  
  
**********************  
  
Monica and John showed their badges and went around the police barricades to the house. Mark met them outside.   
  
"Hi, John," he said, extending his hand. "Sorry we're not seeing each other under better circumstances."  
  
John shook his hand and nodded. "Mark, this is my partner, Monica Reyes. Monica, Mark."  
  
The two exchanged greetings.  
  
"Have either of you eaten recently?" he nonchalantly asked, leading the two agents inside.  
  
"No," Monica answered.  
  
"Good." He led them first to the living room.  
  
Monica immediately turned away for a moment to regain her composure. A chill ran down her spine.   
  
"You alright, Monica?" John asked.  
  
She turned back and gave him a small smile. "Yeah."  
  
Armend handed them both a pair of latex gloves. "We aren't sure who these two are yet. The other four we have managed to identify as the occupants of this house."   
  
Crouching before the bodies, Monica carefully looked over them while John and Mark discussed the reports. "Was this found at the other scene?" Monica asked.  
  
Armend and John stood behind her.  
  
"What are you looking at, Agent Reyes?" asked Armend.  
  
"This." She pointed to a small burn mark found on each of the bodies just above what appeared to be the initial incision.  
  
But both Doggett and Armend shook their heads.  
  
"I don't see anything, Monica," John told her.   
  
She looked up at the two men. "These two burn marks. They look like tiny circles?"  
  
Again both men shook their heads.  
  
"I'm sure you're both tired from the flight and such," offered Armend. "Why don't you go back to the hotel and I'll send a copy of the file over in a little while."  
  
Monica's jaw dropped. How could they not see the marks? She shook it off. "Actually, I'd rather take a look at the other victims." Standing up, both men knew better than to argue with her.  
  
Leading them into the upstairs bedroom, he stepped aside to let them in. On the bed lay what appeared to be the wife/mother. She had been neatly cut in half across the torso with another vertical cut down the middle where the skin had been pulled aside exposing her insides. The husband lay face down on the floor in front of the bed, having been killed in much the same fashion.   
  
Again, Monica noticed a tiny burn mark above the initial incision on each body but said nothing more about it.  
  
Once they were outside, Sargent Armend turned to Monica. "Well, do you think I'm dealing with a cult or something here?"   
  
Knowing he was tired and stressed, she tried not to take offence to the tone he used. "As strange as it sounds, no I don't. I'm not sure what you're dealing with but it doesn't seem to have the same M.O. as a cult type killing."  
  
"Great." He paused. "As sad as this sounds I was really hoping it was. At least then we'd have something to go on."  
  
"Any help we can offer..." John offered.  
  
Mark smiled, probably for the first time that day. "Thanks, John. I'm probably going to take you two up on that offer." He turned to Monica. "And thank you, Agent Reyes."  
  
"Monica." Off his expression, she added, "If you call him John, you have to call me Monica." She gave him a warm smile.  
  
"Monica it is. I'll call you guys later tonight after I get back to the precinct. Go get dinner." Glancing back that house, he added, "or maybe not."  
  
"We'll get this guy, okay?" John assured him.  
  
"I just hope he doesn't get many more before we find him."  
  
***************  
  
The drive back to the hotel was a quiet one.  
  
"You hungry?" John finally asked.  
  
"Not really, but if you want to stop somewhere..." She continued to look out the passenger window wondering how two crimes so horrific could happen in such a quiet, middle-class suburb.  
  
"After that I don't think I'll be eating for awhile." He paused. "What are you thinking?"  
  
She turned to him and smiled. "Nothing really. Just how safe all these people feel out here and then something like this happens." Monica shrugged. "I dunno. Stupid really I guess."  
  
"No, not really. That was the reason Barbara and I moved out to Long Island. We didn't want to raise..." His voice caught slightly. "Luke in the city. We thought the 'burbs' were safer." Quickly, he fell silent.  
  
Monica watched him without saying a word. She had known this case was going to hit a little too close to home, but she had never known John had purposely moved to the suburbs to keep his son safe only to have him brutally murdered - taken from his own block. Swallowing hard, she turned her attention back outside of the window.  
  
****************  
  
John sat up abruptly. Sweat covered his face and then he realized the phone ringing had awakened him from his nightmare.   
  
"Doggett." He glanced at the clock to see it was only four-thirty in the morning.  
  
"It's me." Mark sighed.   
  
"Another one?"  
  
"Yeah. A block away from the scene earlier today. Two victims this time."  
  
"We'll be right there." He hung up and took a moment to collect himself. Sliding on his suit pants, he knocked on the connecting door to Monica's room. When she didn't answer, he slowly opened it and peered in. A small smile formed on his lips upon seeing her sleeping soundly. Softly he walked over to her bedside and shook her gently. "Monica, get up."  
  
She mumbled something and turned away from him.  
  
"Monica."  
  
"What?"  
  
"There's been another one."  
  
Yawning, she turned to face him, her sleepy eyes finding his. "How many?"  
  
"Two. I told Mark we'd be right there."  
  
Sitting up, she yawned again and looked at the clock. "It hasn't even been twenty-four hours!"  
  
He merely nodded and went back to his room to finish getting dressed.  
  
***********  
  
The partners arrived at the crime scene just after 5:00am. They were met by Sargent Armend.   
  
"Sorry to call you in so early."  
  
"It's alright," Monica said. "The sooner we get this monster the better off we'll all be."  
  
"Same brutality?" John asked.  
  
Mark shook his head. "Actually, no."  
  
Monica looked at him. "Then are you sure it's the same killer?"  
  
He nodded and led them to the living room.  
  
There on one of the empty walls was a note and diagram of a dissected human body written in the victim's blood.  
  
'I am invincible. Fear me for I cleanse the unclean.'  
  
"It could be a copycat," offered John.  
  
"Could be," agreed Mark. "But it's not. Our pathologist has already confirmed the same weapon was used."  
  
Monica, meanwhile, had gone off to examine the bodies. Again, she saw a tiny, burned circle on each victim. Why could no one else see it? Again, she said nothing about it. When she re-joined Doggett, Armend was telling him they were pushing all forensic tests through quickly since the murders were occurring so often.   
  
"There's really nothing more you two can do here at the moment," he told them. "Why don't you see what you can find out through your FBI channels and we'll get together later this morning to compare notes. The results should be back around eleven."  
  
Doggett looked at Reyes. "You ready?"  
  
She only nodded and followed him out to their car.  
  
Once away from the scene, John looked over at her. "Okay, out with it."  
  
"Out with what?"  
  
"You're keeping something from me."  
  
She glanced at him, then looked away. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."  
  
Pulling off the road, he parked the car and turned to her. "Come on, Mon, it's not like you to keep things from me."  
  
Her eyes met his. "Remember yesterday when I mentioned the circle marks on the victims?"  
  
"The ones I didn't see? Yes."  
  
"It wasn't just on those two. I saw the same mark on the other victims at the scene and then again just now."  
  
He stared at her.  
  
"See, I knew you wouldn't believe me."  
  
"It's not that." He hesitated before continuing. "Over the time we've been partners I've learned not to write off your... intuition or whatever it is. But I'm just having a hard time accepting you're seeing something no one else can."  
  
"Yeah, well, it's not easy for me having you and Sargent Armend thinking I'm hallucinating," she snapped.   
  
They sat in silence for a moment.   
  
"Giving you the benefit of the doubt that you are actually seeing this, what do you think it means?"  
  
Monica shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe I was wrong and it is somehow tied into ritualistic killings. I've just..." Her eyes met his once again. "I've just never seen anything, not matter what the ritual was, this extreme. If I didn't know better I'd almost say we were dealing with the devil himself."  
  
"Do you want off of this?"  
  
"No. Whoever or whatever this is needs to be stopped. If we can help at all..."  
  
He nodded and started the car again. "Why don't we grab something to eat and head back to the hotel." We can check into any past X-File cases and see if there's ever been anything similar and if not, maybe someone at the bureau knows something that can help."  
  
"Sounds good."  
  
*************************  
  
Nursing his third cup of coffee, Armend sat at his desk staring at the forensic reports before him. "There has to be something you missed," he finally said.  
  
"I'm sorry, we went over everything twice." Forensics expert Sally Kaufield sat across from him. Pushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, she leaned over his desk. "See this here?" she asked, pointing to the report of the young boy who had been hanging on the basement wall.   
  
"Yeah, but I'm not seeing anything that will help."  
  
"That's just it. His wounds were the same, yet there was a slight difference. So slight that it seems insignificant but, I don't know, maybe it's something. All the other cuts were in straight lines, whether horizontal or vertical. His were that but also included three diagonal cuts."  
  
Armend shrugged. "Maybe the killer was in a rush at that point. Maybe the boy was the first victim and he was taking his time but then someone upstairs got up and spooked him."  
  
Kaufield sat back. "Maybe. I really don't know. My team is working overtime on this. We're running another group of tests but I doubt we'll find anything different."  
  
"Great." He looked up when there was a knock at his door. "Come on in," he said to Doggett and Reyes. Motioning over to Kaufield, he said, "This is our forensics expert, Sally Kaufield." He looked at Sally. "These are the FBI agents I was telling you about. Agent John Doggett and Agent Monica Reyes."  
  
They exchanged greeting then sat on the couch in the office.   
  
"Sally was dropping off the reports."  
  
"And?" asked John.  
  
"And nothing," Sally offered. "I was just telling the Sarg here we've gone over each victim at least twice and we're doing a third go-over but nothing."  
  
John glanced at Monica then turned his attention back to Sally. "What about any burn marks?"  
  
Monica looked at Doggett and inside smiled.  
  
"Burn marks?"  
  
Armend jumped in. "The other day, the case on Shirley Street, Agent Reyes thought she noticed some marks on the victims."  
  
She shook her head slowly. "No, not that I noticed." She turned to Monica. "Where were they? I'll look again."  
  
"They varied, but they were all right above what appeared to be the initial incision in each victim. They're tiny circles."  
  
Sally shrugged. "I'll let you know what I find." Standing up, she turned back to Armend. "I've got to head back. I'll send over the next report as soon as I get it in."  
  
He nodded then turned his attention back to the agents. "Anything?"  
  
John shook his head. "Nothing. But we're still looking into it." If there had ever been a time he wished he could call upon the expertise of Dana Scully it was now. Being an experts at autopsies, he was sure his former partner could offer some help but, with her life in danger, she had been forced into hiding with her former partner, Fox Mulder, and there was no way to contact them.  
  
Almost as if reading his mind, Monica said, "Doctor Kaufield is doing her best, John."  
  
For a brief moment, their eyes met. It always unnerved him how well she knew him.  
  
"I'll get a copy of this made up for you guys," Mark told them, leaving the office.  
  
"How'd you know what I was thinking?" John asked when they were alone.  
  
She smiled. "If I told you then what fun would I have?"  
  
Smiling back, he said, "I'm sure she'd be able to pick up on something we're all missing though."  
  
"I know. But that's not an option right now so we'll have to do our best. We still have a number of X-file cases to look at. Are there any cases you worked on that might resemble what's going on here?"  
  
"Don't you think I'd remember if I had?"  
  
"Yeah, I suppose that wouldn't be something you'd forget." She fell silent.  
  
"Monica?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
He stared at the floor and his voice remained quiet. "We have to get this guy before... before he puts anymore parents through what I had to go through."  
  
Without a thought, Monica reached over and covered his hands with her own. "We will." She withdrew her hand quickly when Armend walked back in the room.  
  
Handing the report to John, he sat back at his desk. "No reason for you guys to hang around here. Call me if you find anything."  
  
The agents stood up, walking to the door.   
  
"We will," John told him before closing the door behind them.  
  
******************  
  
Dusk was descending upon the quiet suburban town. A light snow had begun falling. There were only three days until Christmas. Only three days for the world to be rid of the unclean.   
  
Inside a worn out, warped old shack he sat, waiting patiently. The small fire in the fireplace had begun to simmer out. It was almost time again. This night, he would have to work quickly. Too many unclean still lived.  
  
*******************  
  
"Hey, John?"  
  
"Yeah?" He looked up from the desk in Monica's room.  
  
"What about this case?" She sat with her legs crossed on her bed skimming through their files on her laptop.  
  
Walking over, he sat on the edge of the bed. "Which one?"  
  
"One you and Dana worked on about two years ago. According to her report, it involved a... human bat?"  
  
John let out a chuckle. "That was *her* report. I never did buy into it."  
  
But Monica persisted. "According to this, the bat sought out his victims and would tear them apart."  
  
"Monica, assuming it was a.. .human bat... his victims were chosen for revenge purposes. Not at random and he certainly didn't dissect them."  
  
She sat up and stretched. "Well, that was my last-ditch effort. I've gotta take a break. The words on the screen are starting to blur."  
  
"Can't imagine why," he teased. "You've only been at it for the last six hours straight."  
  
"Six hours?"  
  
He nodded and stood up. "Want room service or want to go out and grab something to eat?"  
  
"Let's go out. I could use the break."  
  
"I think there's a small diner-type restaurant around the corner."  
  
"Sounds good."  
  
****************  
  
Monica ran down the dark alley, gun drawn. Her heart pounded. They had just found Sargent Armend - what was left of him - but John was still missing. Please, no. Not him. She stopped near a group of dumpsters.   
  
A foot.   
  
Blood.   
  
Tears streamed down her cheeks. "John?"   
  
No answer.  
  
She stepped closer, carefully.  
  
A gasp.  
  
A flood of tears.  
  
Kneeling beside him, she reached out and touched the only part of his hand that was still covered with skin. "No, John! I need you. JOHN! JOHN!"  
  
She was shaking.  
  
"Monica!"  
  
His voice. She could still hear his voice.   
  
"JOHN!"  
  
"Monica, wake up!"  
  
Her eyes flew open and she sat straight up, nearly knocking John over. Her cheeks were stained with tears.  
  
"You were having a nightmare." He sat on the edge of the bed and immediately found her wrapped around him. Rubbing her back, he whispered, "It was only a nightmare, Monica."  
  
She looked at him. "You... Mark... You..." She couldn't finish.  
  
John got up and got her a glass of water and held it as she drank.  
  
"I'm sorry," she sheepishly told him. "It's just... it was so real."  
  
"Maybe we should pull out of this."  
  
Shaking her head, she pulled the blankets closer. "No."  
  
"Okay, but if this gets worse, I'm not taking no for an answer."  
  
Nodding in agreement, she laid back down. "I'll be alright, John. Like you said it was only a nightmare."   
  
He watched her for a moment then returned to his own room, leaving the adjoining door ajar.  
  
**************  
  
He could smell the uncleanness surrounding the house.  
  
He laughed at the fence and security system - like that could keep him out.  
  
With one swipe of his hand, the German Shepard was silenced.  
  
Ah, a family of eight. What luck.  
  
In deafening silence, he slipped into the house un-detected.  
  
In the dead of night, he slipped back into the darkness.  
  
*************  
  
John knocked on the adjoining door.  
  
"You can come in, John, I'm not going to bite."  
  
"Pity," he muttered loud enough for her to here. "Mark called. Another killing last night. Family of eight this time. Happy Christmas Eve."  
  
"Let me grab my coat."  
  
"He actually said there was no point to going over. It's the same thing. He was hoping we'd be able to spend the time working on our end."  
  
Monica sighed and sipped her coffee. "I think we should go to the Boston office and use the resources there. I've reached the limits of access here."  
  
He nodded. "How are you doing?"  
  
She looked up at him from her chair and smiled. "Much better, thanks. I'm really sorry about last night."  
  
"It's okay. I'm sure I'll be having nightmares of my own at some point."  
  
Placing his hand on t he small of her back, he followed her out of the room.  
  
*************  
  
Doggett paced the floor of the research room at the Boston Bureau office. "Why can't we get a break?"  
  
Monica said nothing while searching through the various books.  
  
Sitting beside her, John ran his hand over the back of his neck then watched Monica before reaching over with one hand to massage her shoulders.  
  
"You keep that up and I may have to hire you full-time."  
  
"I'm sorry, Mon."  
  
"What for?"  
  
"Ruining your Christmas."  
  
She turned her head to look at him. "You didn't ruin anything. It would have been ruined if you had come here and left me in DC, however."  
  
He smiled and looked down at the book she had. "Religious Massacres?"  
  
She shrugged. "We've exhausted all other avenues."   
  
His hand slid from her back and he reached for another book. "Vlad Dracul? Monica, it's Christmas, not Halloween."  
  
Giving him a humored smile, she flipped through the pages. "Obviously it's someone who believes he is cleansing the world. That plays into the religious part. And his obvious fascination with blood and anatomy plays into a much darker side. There should be one about Jack the Ripper in here too." She stopped.   
  
"Mon?"  
  
Sorting through the various books, she grabbed hold of the Jack the Ripper one.   
  
"You don't think..?"  
  
"Think about it. He knows how to dissect like a trained physician. While he's not taking organs with him, he has a fascination with them, judging by the way he left that boy... I think we're dealing with someone who idolizes Jack the Ripper only with a religious cleansing twist."  
  
Doggett pulled out his cell phone and placed a call to Armend. "I think we have something. We'll be right over." Hanging up, he stared at Monica. "I have no idea how you figured that one out, but I think you may be right."  
  
Getting up and grabbing her coat, she said, "Figuring it out is one thing, catching the monster is another."  
  
******************  
  
Armend peered at the partners over the stack of files on his desk. "I hope it's what we need," he said as they sat.  
  
Monica and John looked at each other and John nodded for her to begin.  
  
"When we couldn't find anything in our files, I chanced looking over ritualistic killings and such and that's when I thought of it." She paused, gauging his reaction. "I think we are dealing with a copycat killer of sorts. He obviously has a knowledge of anatomy - a very in-depth knowledge at that. He dissects them much in the same manner as Jack the Ripper, though not as messily. Yet at the same time, with that message, he is telling us that what he is doing is actually a good thing."  
  
Mark stared at her. "Go on."  
  
She shrugged. "That's really all I have. I think we should look into doctors, forensic specialists, whoever may have this type of training. Maybe start with ones with a history or treatment of mental illnesses. I really don't know."  
  
Mark looked to Doggett.   
  
"It's sounds reasonable to me," John admitted.   
  
Glancing at the files next to him, he sighed. "It does make sense. And at least it gives us some angle here. Think you two could help us in that department? The more people working on narrowing the list down..."  
  
"You don't even have to ask," Doggett said.   
  
Armend nodded and reached for the phone as it rang. He closed his eyes as he listened. Upon hanging up, he said, "A sorority this time."  
  
*************  
  
Arriving at the scene of the latest attack, Monica stopped after taking three steps towards the house.  
  
"Monica?"  
  
"I..." Fear filled her eyes. "I can't go in there."  
  
Forgetting everything else, John's full attention turned toward his partner. Touching her arm, he forced her to look in his eyes. "Why not?"  
  
"I... I just can't, John." She began shaking beneath his touch. "I... It..."   
  
In the next instant, John caught her as she passed out.  
  
*************  
  
Standing outside the hospital room, Doggett practically assaulted the doctor as he emerged from Monica's room. "How is she?"  
  
"She's fine," the doctor said.  
  
"Fine? She fainted. People don't normally do that..."  
  
"I'm sorry, Mr. Doggett. We have run ever test and there is nothing wrong with her. Not even a fever. She did admit to being under a lot of stress recently so my guess is it caught up with her."  
  
He nodded. "Can I see her?"  
  
"Yes. I'm releasing her later this evening. I'm assuming she will have someone to look after her?"  
  
"Yeah, she will." Taking a deep breath, John opened the door to her room.  
  
Her eyes immediately locked with his. "It's not the stress, John."  
  
"They said there's nothing wrong with you." Standing beside her bed, he looked down when he felt her hand touch his.  
  
"I felt something back there. Something... evil. Whoever or whatever did that was still in there. Not in the house, but watching."  
  
John stood in silence for a moment. "I'm taking us off this."  
  
"What? You can't."  
  
"I'm not risking your health or mine over this. We did what Armend asked us to do now it's up to the local officials to solve it."  
  
She stared hard into his eyes. "You don't believe that for one second, John Doggett. What is it?"  
  
"I do..." He stopped. "Alright." Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked at her, unsure if he should tell her the truth. At the very least, however, she deserved to know. "The night before you're nightmare..."  
  
Her nod urged him to go on.  
  
"Well, I had one too. It was dark. There was an alley. I had already found Mark, or what was left of him. I called out to you - you had gone down the alley..."  
  
"And you saw a foot and a pool of blood," she finished.  
  
"How...?  
  
"That was my dream. Only it was you, not me." The lights reflected off the unshed tears in her eyes.   
  
"Then that settles it. I'm not putting either one of us at risk. We're going back to DC and I'm not taking no for an answer."  
  
"John..."  
  
But he shook his head. "I'm calling Mark now." He stood up but her hand held his. "Monica, it's not worth it."  
  
"Not even if we can save people? Prevent others from dying?"  
  
"And how have we done that up to this point? We don't have anything more to go on other than your profile - and we don't even know if that profile fits!" Letting go of her hand, he paced the room. "I don't want anymore to die, no. But least of all I don't want you to die."  
  
She laughed. "I'm not dying, John. I fainted."  
  
"This time." Returning to her side, he stared at her. "I may not believe, but I do know that you have some... weird... ability to sense things. What if the next time it's not just fainting?"  
  
"So what are you going to do, John? Lock me up in a box where no harm can reach me?" she asked bitterly.   
  
He ran his fingers through his hair and counted to ten. In a softer voice, he said, "I'm sorry, Mon, that's not how I meant it."  
  
"I know. I'm sorry too."  
  
"The doctor said he's going to release you later. I'll hold off on calling Mark until then and when we get back to the hotel we can discuss this."  
  
She nodded in agreement, though both knew ultimately they would not be returning to DC until the case was solved.  
  
*************  
  
Just before nine o'clock that night, he received a call from Mark. John sat on Monica's bed as she took a shower.  
  
"How's Monica?" Mark asked.  
  
John looked towards the bathroom door. "She's fine. The doctor couldn't find anything wrong."  
  
"That's good. Look, John, if this is getting to be too much... well... I'd understand..."  
  
He shook his head. "We discussed that earlier and mutually agreed we need to help you on this."  
  
"Okay. But if at anytime..."  
  
"I know, thanks. Any news?"  
  
"No. But we've been finding new victims all day. In all my years I have never seen anything like this. Could never have imagined anything like this. We have a total of twenty-one new victims from today alone."  
  
John remained silent.  
  
"That brings the total to nearly forty," Mark said in just above a whisper.  
  
"Please tell me Massachusetts has the death penalty."  
  
"Personally and off the record, I don't think that will matter. There is not one officer who won't shoot first and ask questions later on this and let me tell you, I'll be the first to look the other way - if I don't kill him first."  
  
Hearing the shower turn off, John said, "I'm going to go. Meet you at the station first thing?"  
  
"Yeah, that'll work. Tell Monica I hope she feels better."  
  
"I will. Thanks." Not wanting anymore phone calls for a while, John turned off his cell phone completely and ran his hands over his face.  
  
"Was that Mark?" Monica asked, emerging from the bathroom in a t-shirt and pajama pants.  
  
"Yeah. He said they found twenty-one more today."  
  
She sat on the bed and sighed. "How is he able to kill them all without being seen? And so many at one time?"  
  
He turned his head towards her. "I don't know."  
  
"Why are we going on the assumption it's only one person doing this?" Monica suddenly asked.  
  
John moved back and propped himself up against the headboard while Monica lay on the pillow beside him. "There's no evidence to suggest otherwise. Other than the number of victims that is. Are you thinking it's more than one?"  
  
"I don't know. It doesn't seem likely given the extreme similarities in all the killings but..." Pausing in thought, she added, "What if it's clones. Or those Super Soldiers?"  
  
He shook his head. "Doesn't seem to be how they'd work."  
  
"I know. I guess I'm just desperate for anything at this point."  
  
"Yeah." Glancing down at her, he said, "Why don't I go and let you get some sleep. We've got a lot of research tomorrow."   
  
She nodded into the pillow. "Thank you for everything today, John."  
  
Resisting the urge to touch her, he merely smiled, got up from the bed, and returned to his own room - once again leaving the door slightly ajar.  
  
****************  
  
He paced back and forth restlessly in the worn down shack. It was Christmas Eve. Only a few more hours until sunrise and then it would be too late. But now he knew. He knew what he had been looking for was there. The end to it all. He had felt it near earlier. Tonight he would seek it out and end it.  
  
*************  
  
John had just turned out the lights when something inside nagged at him to look in on Monica. Quietly, he slid out of bed and opened the connecting door. She was still as he had left her, sleeping soundly and looking more peaceful than he had seen her in a long time. Hesitating briefly, he walked over to her and watched - assuring himself she was still breathing.  
  
Slowly her eyes opened. "What is it?"  
  
"Nothing," he whispered. "Just checking up on you. Go back to sleep."  
  
"Okay," she mumbled.  
  
Taking a deep breath, this time he did reach out and run a finger down her cheek before leaving.  
  
***************  
  
He had driven around town for nearly an hour.   
  
Looking.  
  
Searching.  
  
Finally finding.  
  
Standing outside of his car, he looked up.   
  
Third floor.  
  
Fourth window from the left.  
  
This was it.  
  
*************  
  
Monica's eyes flew opened.  
  
Her heart raced inside her.  
  
A cold sweat covered her.  
  
Her body shook.  
  
It was there.  
  
"John!" she tried to call but had no voice.  
  
Willing herself to get her gun, she found her body would not move.  
  
It was there.  
  
He was there.  
  
Tears ran down her face.  
  
Evil.  
  
Pure evil.  
  
A cold hand around her neck.  
  
"I knew you'd arrive," he whispered into her ear.  
  
"H...how?" she choked out.  
  
"You could never resist me. You foolishly could never let it be."  
  
Monica managed to turn her head and look into the cold, empty eyes of a killer. "Why did you do it?" She was still unable to get her voice above a mumbled whisper - something John would never hear.  
  
"You know. You brought it. The evil. I had to cleanse the evil you brought. By cleansing you all the evil will end." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, sharp scalpel.  
  
"I didn't bring anything," she pleaded against her better judgement. From her FBI training she knew pleading was really the last thing to do, but she was still human.  
  
"You did, but no more."   
  
His hand tightened around her neck and she could feel herself losing consciousness. Then a tinge of pain where the first incision had been made. 'John!' she called out in her mind. 'Help me!'  
  
"Wh.. why... the...children?"  
  
He stopped after the first, shallow incisions and looked at her. "I had to prevent the evil from entering them like before."  
  
"You've done this before?"  
  
"You should know. The last time we met was in a small village outside of Dublin."  
  
"Ireland?"  
  
His hand loosened its grip slightly. "Of course."  
  
"I've... never been to... Ireland." Her abdomen was growing warm from the blood seeping out through the cut but she had to take her time.  
  
He stared at her for a moment almost as if believing her. Believing he had been mistaken. It quickly passed and he violently pushed her head against the headboard. "You lie. Evil lies. No more questions. It is time to purge the world." He lifted the scalpel and was slowly lowering it when suddenly he was pushed from the bed.  
  
It took less than thirty seconds for John to have the killer unconscious and handcuffed, a call made to the police, and for him to be on the bed holding Monica in his arms.  
  
"The ambulance will be here soon," he whispered, rocking her as she cried. "Why didn't you call for me sooner?"  
  
She pulled back, still holding him, and met his eyes. "I tried. My voice... I had no voice."  
  
Placing one hand on her tear-soaked cheek, he pushed her dampened hair from her eyes. "At least it came back in time."  
  
"What do you mean? I couldn't call you. I tried up until you came in here."  
  
"I heard you, Monica. You asked me to help you."  
  
Being too drained to discuss it further, Monica merely nodded.   
  
It was then that John saw the red seeping through her nightshirt. Lifting her shirt slighting, he gasped. "Why didn't you say anything?" He ran to the bathroom and returned with a towel, holding it firmly over her abdomen. When he looked at her, he found her staring down on the floor at their prisoner. "He won't be hurting anyone else."  
  
After that it was a whirlwind of activity between the police, including Sergeant Armend, and being rushed off in the ambulance.  
  
****************  
  
The same doctor who had treated Monica earlier, met Doggett in the waiting room. "She's going to be fine. The incision was not that deep. She will have to take it easy, however, for a few days so the stitches don't come out."  
  
John nodded, finally releasing the breath he had been holding. "No offence, but I really don't want to have to see you again anytime soon."  
  
The doctor smiled. "No offence taken. The feeling's really mutual. She's asking for you. I am assuming you won't want to leave tonight so I had one of the nurses set some blankets and a pillow in there for you."  
  
"Thank you," he said, shaking the doctors hand.  
  
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, John found himself opening the door to a hospital room when his partner lay. "Hey again. Want to just rent this room?" he asked with a grin.  
  
"No, thanks." Her expression turned solemn.   
  
Taking her hand, he said, "It's over, Monica. He's in prison and he won't ever be getting out."  
  
"I know." She tried to sit up but cringed in pain. "It's just going to take time, I guess. I have never felt so much pure evil like that." She paused. "What time is it?"  
  
Looking at his watch, he sighed. "Four fifteen."  
  
"Merry Christmas, John."  
  
"Yeah, Merry Christmas."  
  
Squeezing his hand, she forced a small smile. "It's not your fault. You saved me. We got the guy. I guess in a way that was the greatest gift a lot of people around here will get this year."  
  
"I'm going to see if they'll let you go later today. That way we can at least be back home for some of Christmas." He left to find the doctor, returning fifteen minutes later. He stopped in the doorway watching her. Her eyes were closed and he was not sure if she was asleep or not. Quietly, he closed the door.  
  
"What's the verdict?" she whispered.  
  
"Says you can go. I already booked us a flight out which would get us back home by noon." Sweeping some stray strands of hair out of her face, he smiled down at her. "Why don't you get some sleep. I'll go back to the hotel and pack our things and see you back here soon."  
  
Already near asleep, she mumbled something and nodded.   
  
*********************  
  
Their flight back to DC had been uneventful and Monica had slept most of the way. John drove her back to her apartment and was about to leave when she took his hand.  
  
"Why don't you stay for a little while. I, uh... well, could use the company."  
  
"Nightmares?" he asked.  
  
She nodded. "I know it's silly but..."  
  
John took her in his arms and held her tight. Thoughts of how he nearly lost her again ran through his head. "It's not silly. I'll stay as long as you want me to."  
  
The afternoon was spent watching classic Christmas movies, talking about Christmas memories from their childhood and just being friends. Neither one mentioned anything about the case, figuring it could wait until the next day - until John's cell phone rang.  
  
He looked at Monica and she knew right away it was Sergeant Armend.  
  
"No, we haven't been to the office," John told him. "Is it really that important to do today?" He sighed. "No, you're right. I'll get them and fax them back to you." He smiled at Monica. "Yeah, she's fine." He listened again. "You really don't have to... alright, if you feel you need too. I'll see you then." Clicking his phone off, he turned to face Monica on the couch.   
  
"What is it?"  
  
"He said he faxed the report over and needs us to look it over and sign it right away. He also said he's flying in later to personally pick it up."  
  
"What time?" she asked, yawning.  
  
"Around ten. You don't have to go. I'll meet him and give him our signed reports. I'm sure he'll understand. Besides, I don't think he's staying. I sort of got the impression he was planning on catching the red-eye back." He paused. "I'm gonna run over and get the reports. I'll be back soon. Do you want or need anything?"  
  
"To not see that monster every time I close my eyes?" With a small smile, she shook her head. "No, besides, it's Christmas, John. Nothing is open."  
  
Standing up, he nodded in agreement. "Alright then. I'll be back before you know it."  
  
"Did Mark... um, give any reason why this monster did what he did?"  
  
John shook his head. "Other than what we already knew, no. I guess it's all in the report."  
  
She nodded and watched him leave, quickly locking the door behind him.  
  
***********************  
  
Monica looked over at the clock on the wall. John had been gone for well over an hour. Slightly worried, she picked up the phone and dialed his cell number.  
  
"Doggett."  
  
"It's me. I was just wondering where you were." She heard a frustrated grunt on the other end of the line.  
  
"Paper jammed in the fax machine."  
  
She tried to hide her laugh. "Oh. Need any help with the great technological advancement of society?"  
  
"HaHa. No, I think I can handle this. I just have to wait for them to resend it." He hesitated then asked, "You alright?"  
  
"Yeah. I just..." She sighed. "I guess I never realized how empty this place can be. Nothing really. I'll see you when you get here."  
  
There was no reply.  
  
"John?"  
  
"Huh? Oh, sorry. Yeah, I'll be there soon." With that he hung up.  
  
**********************  
  
Another hour had passed before there was a knock on her door. Still slightly on edge, Monica's heart pounded and she instinctively reached for her gun. "Who is it?"  
  
"John."  
  
Smiling to herself, she laid the gun on the table and unlocked the door. "'Bout ti... John, what is it?"  
  
Lifting his eyes from the report, he looked at her and handed the stack of papers to her, locking the door behind him.  
  
Sitting on the couch, she looked over the report twice then over at John. "You've got to be kidding me."  
  
He shook his head. "I'm sure Mark will explain it all when he gets here."  
  
"I'm going with you then. This doesn't make any sense. He was there. So was most of the police force. How can he possibly make up a report that states the killer was unaware of his actions and that not all the deaths were related?!" She began to read over it again when John took it from her.  
  
"I don't know, but the last thing you need to do is give yourself a headache by reading it again."  
  
"John..."  
  
"No. The doctor let me bring you back only with the promise I not let you get stressed out from anything. And that's exactly what I'm doing." He sat beside her. "Neither one of us is signing this thing until we straighten it out with Mark, okay?"  
  
"Yeah." Monica sat back on the couch. "I still can't believe that report, though."  
  
Picking up the remote, John turned on the television. "Mark's plane should be here in a few hours. Why don't we just relax and wait. I'm sure there's a good explanation."  
  
**********************  
  
The time had come for them to head out to the airport. However, Monica had once again fallen asleep on the couch and John, not having the heart to wake her, left her a note and drove to the airport.  
  
Within minutes, Mark emerged from the plane and immediately spotted Doggett. "Where's your partner?" he asked.  
  
"Resting," John responded, taken aback by Mark's appearance. His normally well-dressed, clean-cut friend looked as if he hadn't been home in days. John convinced himself it was probably the stress of the last few days catching up to him.   
  
Upon deciding on a diner that was open on Christmas, the men placed their order and John pulled out the report.  
  
"What is all this, Mark?"  
  
"What? It's the report. I need both your signatures to finally close this case."  
  
"This is the report? Haven't you left out a few things? You were there too. What's this about this guy not being responsible?"  
  
Mark shrugged. "Not enough evidence."  
  
John studied his expression. Something was wrong. "What aren't you telling me?"  
  
Just then their food arrived.   
  
Waiting until the waitress had left, Mark sighed. "I can't exactly put it out to the public that we let one man murder that many people in that short of a time and couldn't catch him, can I?"  
  
"So this is all about how you look? How the department looks?"  
  
"Come on, John. You were NYPD. You know how it works."  
  
"That was a long time ago."   
  
But even while they ate, something still didn't sit right with John regarding Armend's answer.  
  
John went outside to wait while Mark paid the bill. Pulling out his cell phone, he pushed the automatic dial button.  
  
It rang three times before, "Hello?"  
  
"Hey." He smiled. He loved the sound of her voice when it was still sleepy and groggy.  
  
"Thanks for deserting me."  
  
"Sorry. Look, Mark's here with me. We're at the Potomac Diner."  
  
"Has he given you an explanation yet?"  
  
"Not one that I like. Would it be alright to swing by your place?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Okay. We should be there in about fifteen minutes." He hung up just as Mark approached him.  
  
"Was that Monica?"  
  
He nodded. "I told her we'd be right over."  
  
"Is she nearby?"  
  
"Not far. In Georgetown." John unlocked the doors to his truck and was about to step in when suddenly his world faded to black.  
  
**********************  
  
Monica took the teapot off the burner and set up three mugs. She knew it was going to be a long night. Pouring herself a cup, her hand shook uncontrollably as she lifted the mug to her lips. The next moment it crashed to the floor.  
  
She froze.  
  
There was a knock at her door.  
  
"Agent Reyes?"  
  
It was Sergeant Armand's voice.  
  
"Agent Reyes, are you there? There's been an accident."  
  
John.  
  
Picking up her gun, she carefully opened the door. Her fingers shook and she was barely able to undo the chain.  
  
In an instant the door flew open, knocking the gun from her hand.  
  
"You never were too smart," Mark hissed yet his voice was different.   
  
"What did you do to John?"  
  
He shrugged. "Even the rats deserve something at Christmas." He forced her back into the far corner and wrapped his hands around her neck. "I will not let you get away this time."  
  
Tears filled her eyes and she managed to push him away. "It's you."  
  
An evil grin grew on his lips. "You didn't really think a mortal body could keep me, did you?" He laughed. "Thought you would have remembered that too. As I recall, that was how I escaped from you in Dublin."  
  
She shook her head, still managing to keep out of reach of him. "I still don't understand. You keep saying we met in Dublin, but I've never been there."  
  
He stared at her. There was no need to rush. John had been taken care of. "We have. Under much the same circumstances."  
  
She continued to look at him.  
  
"Eighteen thirty-two. Small town. Not too many people." He chuckled. "None by the time I was through."  
  
"I..."  
  
"You were the only one to escape the cleansing and I barely escaped you. I never thought you'd come back. You're family was full of witches. You were the strongest of all. I had to eliminate the evil. But with your magic you escaped. I made it my life to hunt you down." He approached her again. "With you gone there will be no more evil," he hissed then reached for her.  
  
Monica's thoughts, however, were not on finding out about re-incarnation or ghosts; her thoughts were on John. "Where is he?"  
  
"They'll find him soon enough. What's left of him anyway."  
  
Taking a chance, she said, "If you take me to him, you can do what you want with me. I just need to see him." Somehow she had managed to keep her voice from quivering.  
  
Mark thought for a moment then, with a nod, led her out the door.  
  
******************  
  
In silence, Monica rode in the passenger seat of John's truck with Mark being the driver. He turned down a dark road near the diner and pulled up in front of an alley.  
  
Her heart stopped.  
  
The nightmare.  
  
John lying in a pool of blood.  
  
She turned to face the entity beside her.  
  
"He's somewhere down there."  
  
Slowly, she opened the door and stepped out only to have her arm jerked harshly.   
  
"I told you I'd take you to him. I said nothing about letting you go."  
  
"I said I wanted to see him," she hissed.  
  
"No. You will, however, be joining him." Pulling out a long knife, he dragged her down the dark alley.  
  
She had no weapon. He had already proven himself to be stronger than her.  
  
Looking down, she gasped.  
  
Beside the dumpster, she saw a shoe.   
  
And blood.  
  
"John," she whispered.  
  
Searing pain.  
  
She looked at her arm. Blood.  
  
Backing away, she frantically glanced around for anything to use as a weapon.  
  
"You're not getting away from me this time," the killer told her, raising the knife again. "It ends now."  
  
Whether it was a Christmas miracle or just plain luck, Monica got her chance to escape when Mark was distracted for a second by a large alley cat that had jumped out of the dumpster.  
  
She ducked around him and ran back to the deserted street.   
  
Mark was catching up fast.  
  
Opening the driver's side of John's truck, she reached beneath it.  
  
An arm snaked around her waist and pulled her away.  
  
She turned.  
  
One shot.  
  
Her hands shook.  
  
Blood pooled at her feet.  
  
His cold eyes stared into her.  
  
"The next life," he whispered before collapsing on the ground.  
  
Taking a moment to catch her breath, she felt for a pulse but found none.  
  
"John!" Running around the truck, she stopped just short of the dumpster. Afraid of what she might find.  
  
Monica jumped upon hearing a pained groan. Quickly she whirled around with John's back-up gun aimed high.   
  
No one.  
  
"Mon..." It was barely above a whisper.  
  
Without further hesitation, Monica ran to the other side of the dumpster and found John lying on the ground. A large gash in his head and an obvious stab wound near his heart. "John? Can you hear me?"  
  
Struggling to open his eyes, he finally looked at her and tried to smile. "Been worse." He coughed.  
  
"Don't try to move. I have to find a phone to call for help."  
  
"Mark. He's not..."  
  
"He's dead, John. It's finally over."   
  
*********************  
  
With the stab wound not being serious, John had been released from the hospital the following day. They filled out what paperwork they needed to for both the Boston and the D.C. police and were told by their superior to take a full week off.  
  
Not wanting to face the demons at her own apartment quite yet, John had suggested Monica stay at his house in the extra bedroom.   
  
She agreed quickly, packed a few things, and had been at his place for two days.  
  
"Some Christmas that was. Can we never repeat it please?" she commented, watching the blinking lights on his tree.  
  
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he watched her. "No problem."   
  
She tilted her head and smiled at him before returning her attention back to the tree.  
  
"How are the nightmares?"  
  
"Better." She shifted uncomfortably. "I still see him. I can still hear him. But... I guess it takes time." She paused. "There's still one thing I don't understand."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The burn marks. The ones I saw but no one else did." Monica shook her head. "It doesn't make sense."  
  
"I don't know if Mr. Skeptic is the one you should be asking that one to. Maybe... maybe it was there to tell you we were dealing with only one killer. Maybe... I don't know. I really don't know, Monica."  
  
"I guess we never will either."  
  
He merely nodded, not knowing what to say. "Oh, hey, I almost forgot." He got up, went over to a nearby desk, and pulled a wrapped present from one of the drawers. Returning to the couch, he handed it to her. "It's a little late, but Merry Christmas, Monica."  
  
Taking the present from him, she sat back and smiled. "Wait here." She, too, got up and ran up the stairs, returning moments later with her gift for him. "It wasn't what I had planned on getting you but after... well... I'll explain if I need to."  
  
He smiled back. "You want to go first?"  
  
"No, you."  
  
With care, he unwrapped the gift and stared. "Superstars of the Superbowl? Monica, you really..."  
  
She quickly grabbed it back. "That wasn't yours." Running back upstairs, she returned with a similarly wrapped gift." "Sorry, this one is yours," she laughed.  
  
"Uh... then who..." Had she been seeing someone and he wasn't aware of it?  
  
"My cousin. He's going to Georgetown this year and my uncle told me he really wanted it."  
  
"Ah." Once again, he unwrapped the gift. He bit his lower lip.  
  
Monica's heart pounded. "If I've overstepped the line..."  
  
When his eyes met hers, they were filled with tears. "No, it's wonderful."  
  
"Are you sure? I just... I don't know what I was thinking.  
  
He held up the frame. "How did you find this?"  
  
"It wasn't easy."  
  
Before him, he held a gold-trimmed frame. In the top center was a picture of his son, Luke, followed by an engraved poem describing him perfectly. "Where is this poem from?"  
  
Monica hesitated. "Me," she whispered.  
  
He turned to her. "You wrote it?"  
  
She nodded. "I thought after you and Barbara were able to let go that day on the beach that maybe you'd want something..."  
  
Pulling her to him, he whispered. "Thank you. It means so much to me."  
  
"You're absolutely sure I didn't bring back bad memories? But when I saw that boy a few days ago... I just thought maybe..." Realizing she was babbling, she stopped talking. Her eyes searched his for the truth about his feelings.  
  
"Monica, you were there too. I know you never really said anything to me about it, but I could see his death affected you too. To tell you the truth, his ashes were all I had in my house to remind me of him. This is something I think I needed."  
  
"As long as you're sure."  
  
He smiled. "I'm sure. Stop worrying. I admit, had it come from anyone else, no, I probably wouldn't have appreciated it. But coming from you - it means a lot. Now, open your present."  
  
With almost child-like enthusiasm, she ripped off the paper to reveal an oblong box. Quizzically she looked at him then opened the box. Inside lay a tin bookmark with Hedwig, the snowy owl from Harry Potter.  
  
"I know how much you love Harry Potter, and it, I don't know, it looked like something you might like," he said then waited a few seconds before adding, "However, your real present is underneath the tissue paper." He grinned at her, knowing she hadn't been sure what to say.  
  
Lifting the paper, she gasped. Attached to an envelope was a silver, heart-shaped pendant on a chain. "John, where did you find it?"  
  
"You didn't lose it in the desert. Turns out it was just underneath the edge of the rug by your desk. However, the chain is new, I couldn't find that."  
  
She leaned over and hugged him. "Thank you so much. I thought I had lost this forever."  
  
"You'd better open the envelope too."  
  
Letting him go, she carefully opened the envelope and grinned. Inside was a note that said: Good for one dinner and a restaurant of your choice. "Are you insinuating I don't get out enough?"  
  
He laughed. "I'm insinuating neither one of us do. And I mean it. You deserve a nice night out. Something other than Polish Sausages that is."  
  
Her eyes sparkled. "But what if Polish Sausages are what I really want?"  
  
"You know I'd get them for you anytime."  
  
Their eyes locked.  
  
They both knew it wasn't about sausages or dinner.  
  
A yawn from John broke the moment.   
  
"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Guess these painkillers are really working."  
  
She smiled. "Why don't you get some sleep. That was doctor's orders after all."  
  
He stood up and had just reached the steps when he turned back. "Monica?"  
  
She looked over at him.  
  
Holding up the frame, he said, "Thank you. Thank you for everything." Then he went up the stairs.  
  
Sitting on the couch, she stared at the heart pendent in her hand. He had given it to her as a friendship gift a few months back. Though she suspected it was also a thank you for being there for him through everything with Luke. When she had lost it, she had been heart-broken. But here it was back in her hand. Given to her once again by John. She smiled as she latched it around her neck. Life was full of circles and, though she couldn't quite figure it out, she was sure that somehow life had just come full circle for them.  
  
  
  
The End 


End file.
